Pedro Sánchez's landslide victory in the elections of 28 May

What a guy, what a champion! How much euphoria you have provoked in thousands of your co-religionists who, crowded together and cheering your exalted figure, acclaimed you on the night of 28 May outside the closed doors of your party's federal headquarters in Calle Ferraz in Madrid.

There is no political figure in the whole world as beloved by his compatriots as yours, immeasurable Pedro Sánchez, who, let me tell you, has just left your adversaries in the political arena stunned, bewildered and fleeing in terror. It seems that some Madrileños have found a disconsolate Isabel Díaz Ayuso and a bitter José Luis Martínez-Almeida lying in the middle of the street, and they have seen to believe!

All Spaniards have been stunned by the immense morganatic triumph that the PSOE has achieved on a national scale. It has achieved victory thanks to your decisive and unquestionable contribution as Duce of the morning pizzas at the Moncloa Palace, Grand Captain of the Hispanic progressive hosts, Caudillo of the essences of the II Republic, Condotiero of the plumbers of Ferraz and punishing Führer of the few fractious ones who, on the sly, dare to question your undisputed absolute command of the party. 

Less than a week after the results of the municipal and autonomic elections of Sunday 28 May, thanks to the "Leña al mono y al trapecio" brand of glue you use, the PSOE is today more united than ever. Not a single discordant voice. No crestfallen, depressed or dejected voices, why?

Unwavering, bombproof loyalty, as witnessed by the grateful applause and affectionate hugs you received on 31 May from all the deputies and senators of the socialist parliamentary group. They were summoned at the blow of a whistle by your faithful spokesman, Patxi López, to celebrate the hero of the historic day of 28M, the endearing leader who has managed to defeat an imaginary seven-headed hydra: you and only you.

Kisses, hugs and smiles
You are aware that a fairly large group of those who until a few hours ago applauded you fear that you will unleash a Spanish version of the St. Valentine's Day massacre in Chicago, the one in 1929, remember? Or that you will implement a low-cost variant of the bloody Night of the Long Knives, ordered on 30 June 1934 by the sinister uncle with the moustache.

While they consider the most appropriate moment to have an outburst in the style of the one Marcus Brutus led against Caesar back in 44 BC, your co-religionists in Congress and the Senate have lavished kisses, hugs and smiles on each other at will.

Of course, they have done so in moderation, so as not to arouse the suspicions of Patxi, the man you employ as "run, go and tell him" and whom you also have acting as KGB Bis commissar. I am told that some senator has whispered "Pedro, we want a son of yours", but she has said it "in a low voice", so as not to uncover Begoña's jealousy. 

Everyone present at the conclave, even the cowardly deputies and senators who criticise you "sotto voce", but who vote in the plenary sessions of the Congress and Senate on the orders you give them from Ferraz or the Moncloa, were on the lookout for a slight gesture from Patxi. They were waiting for his signal to raise their clenched fists and, as on so many other occasions, burst into a loud chant of "La Internacional". They forget that both outbursts are forbidden if you wear a suit and matching tie, as the occasion demanded.

Pedro, I know you are aware that you have many of your aristocrats and party heavyweights very worried. Especially those who, thanks to your bear hug in the election campaign, have been relieved of their heavy burden as presidents of autonomous communities - such as Aragon's Javier Lambán, Extremadura's Guillermo Fernández Vara or Valencia's Ximo Puig -, of provincial councils and mayorships, such as Valladolid's Óscar Puente or Seville's Antonio Muñoz.

NATO is laughing its ass off

Nor do the thousands of advisors, plugged-in employees and high-ranking officials of institutional companies that you had to relocate have a shirt on their backs. They are in despair, because they have no idea what position you are going to assign them in the new lists for the general elections that your janissaries have already begun to draw up.

Keep them in mind because, while most of them start crawling to implore you and collect the consolation prizes in the form of crumbs - though some crumbs are succulent - that, as a magnanimous man, you are willing to bestow on them, others start scheming for nothing good for your health. 

In the Congress hall where you have gathered the nobility that makes laws for your whims, -with the support of your communist allies, separatists and the odd converted gunman-, all were sincere faces of satisfaction, of immense joy, of recognition for the work of Conducator that you do. Nicolai Ceaucescu, who for more than 20 years kept handing out sweets with iron hands bathed in blood at the head of the Socialist Republic of Romania, put it into practice.

But you, Pedro Sánchez, do not aspire to 20 years as Secretary General of the PSOE. You have spread the word that you intend to be Secretary General of NATO. Biden, Macron, Scholz and most of the heads of state and government of the Atlantic Alliance countries are still laughing their heads off.

Just in case, I suggest you pay attention to another possibility. The post of dean of the prestigious Faculty of Economics in Pyongyang remains vacant, where you could enjoy socialist paradise at its best and take the opportunity to earn another doctorate. Moreover, the thousands of kilometres that separate the North Korean capital from Madrid would give you the chance to use the Falcon... or fly with Aeroflot.